


Scorecard

by tigerlady (shetiger)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, F/M, Lessons learned, M/M, Poor choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-07
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:03:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetiger/pseuds/tigerlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love. Sex. Need. Strength. These things don't necessarily go together. Elizabeth has to figure that out on her own. (Takes place around <i>Hot Zone</i>, <i>Before I Sleep</i>, and <i>Sanctuary</i>. Works best if you've seen those eps.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorecard

There are tick-marks in her head. Scarlet-red checks line up beside rows in all caps, counting off the ways that she started to unravel.

 _1\. By letting the strings slip out of her hands._

It has been a day from hell. Elizabeth isn't sure if she's really up to dealing with Rodney in all his myriad moods, but she's here anyway, leaning against the door frame, waiting for him to look up from his computer screen. He finally does, eyes tired and lost and tracking just a second behind the motion of his head, and mood or no mood, there's no way she could not be here. He almost died today. He had microscopic robots in his head trying to eat his brain, for God's sake.

Rage bubbles up all over again--rage and impotence and despair. Elizabeth closes her eyes for a second, pulling it together. Rodney is watching her when she opens them, his face slack and tired like a little boy who's up way past his bedtime. Elizabeth wants to run her fingers through his hair and tell him everything will be all right, but that isn't the way it works between them.

Instead, she walks to his unmade bed. Shoes and socks set neatly at the foot; headset placed safely on the nightstand. By the time she starts loosening the closures of her jacket he's beside her, stripping without finesse.

It's fast and hard, nearly voiceless but for her gasping cries and his panting grunts. Rodney buries his face in her neck and comes just as she's climbing to the peak. Her frustration flares up like a burning spike at the base of her spine. She clenches her muscles around him, trying for a bit more stimulation, but it's no good. He pulls out and rolls off, and she takes deep breaths, trying to get herself under control.

"Sorry," he pants, arm thrown across his eyes. "Give me a minute."

Elizabeth rolls toward him, running a hand across his shoulder, down his side, gentle touches that she usually doesn't indulge in. He lowers his arm, and she catches sight of a shiny wetness in the corner of his eye.

"Rodney," she murmurs, empathy washing away her urgency. "It wasn't your fault, you know."

He blinks, then rolls into her body, pushing her flat onto her back. His hand skims down her belly and between her legs. She sucks in a harsh breath as he finds her clit. His fingers work her perfectly, but he's staring at the wall. She wonders if he's even in the room with her. Elizabeth grabs his wrist.

"Don't," she orders.

He drops his head onto her shoulder, then rolls away.

"Is this what you're really here for, Elizabeth? To see how screwed up I am? I thought it was obvious."

She sighs. "I thought you might want to talk about it."

Rodney laughs sharply. "What I want is for them not to be dead. But I can't have that, can I, so excuse me for being a little upset."

"At least you're still alive," she snaps, her own fear coming back, churning alongside sexual frustration to make her short and irritable. She takes a deep breath, says, "Thank God, at least you're still here."

"God had nothing to do with it." Rodney's voice is bitter certainty. "Thank Carson and his sacrificial mice. Thank whatever whack-job decided that Ancients got to be exempt from brain-exploding nanoviruses."

Elizabeth curls into herself, trying not to think about those...things running rampant inside, things engineered by faceless, malicious enemies. "We got lucky," she thinks aloud, thinking of how bad it could have been. How bad it could still get.

Rodney snorts. "I got lucky. Everybody else got saved by Sheppard."

Just like that, she's angry again. "That man," she practically growls, the betrayal burning hot once again, "nearly contaminated the entire city because he had to go off and do things his way, and then he nearly got himself killed with his heroics."

Rodney makes a scoffing noise.

She rolls toward him, propping her head on her hand. She can feel her forehead wrinkling with her disbelief. "You're not seriously going to try to defend him, are you?"

Rodney shakes his finger, practically in her face. "Oh, no. No, I know this one. You're not mad because Sheppard took matters into his own hands and wound up putting the city at risk. You're pissed off because he defied your orders when he did it."

She shakes her head, almost laughing. "Well, of course, Rodney. We're alone out here, and as important as the military is to our safety, I cannot allow them to undermine the civilian authority. And that means that John Sheppard needs to follow my orders."

Rodney grabs her wrist, and she belatedly realizes that she's copied his own frenetic motions. "Yes, yes, martial law bad and all that. That's not what I meant. It's personal, Elizabeth. You want him falling down at your feet at your say so."

She tugs at her wrist, but instead of letting go, Rodney pushes her back and moves on top of her, slipping his warm, wide thigh between her legs. She presses into it before she can stop herself. "Not this again," she says, but the irritation in her voice is blurred by husky want.

Rodney laughs, and she's not sure if it's hysteria or cruelty lurking at the edges of the sound. "Yes, this again. Why won't you admit it, Elizabeth? You want him. You're hot for him right now."

It's a broken record by now, a pricking tease that he's been at since Antarctica. She's not in the mood for it here, not when they're together. Not after everything that happened today. She twists against him, but his hip is a lead weight over her hip, his thigh an iron bar between her thighs. It shouldn't turn her on, but it does. He lets go of her arm and pinches her nipple. She can't stop the moan.

"You are, aren't you?" he asks, his voice cracking like it does when he's upset. "You wish he were here right now, doing this, instead of me."

She opens her mouth to deny it, but he sucks on her ear lobe, which always, always drives her insane with lust. "Would Sheppard know to do that to you?" Rodney snorts. "I bet he'd love the way you squirm. Tactical advantage, and all that macho stuff."

And damn him, she shouldn't be putting up with this, but her body's hungry, and Rodney's words turn her on more than she wants to admit. She shouldn't be thinking about John like this. She shouldn't be feeling the ghost of his hands as Rodney runs his hands over her thighs and between her legs. Shouldn't want John's breath warm against her cheek as Rodney pants his words against her face.

"That's why, isn't it? You're pissed because you want this with Sheppard, and it makes you mad that he won't roll over like I do."

The feel of righteous anger is almost as satisfying as his fingers sinking into her. She grinds down on his hand. Rodney nips at her ear again as he starts rubbing, pressing the heel of his hand into her exactly right as his fingers thrust and curl.

"Oh, yeah, like that," he whispers. "He'd do you just like this, and he'd rub his cock up against your hip like this," and she can feel him hard again, thrusting against her, "so hard, so ready to take you, to sink deep while you clench around him."

Rodney speeds up. She's close, very close, thrusting down, needing every bit he's giving her. "Do you want John to fuck you, Elizabeth?"

She comes, so hard she doesn't have breath to moan or scream. She's still shaking and panting when Rodney pulls his hand free and moves between her legs.

"I don't think so," she pants, levering herself up and away. He looks hurt and confused. It's just like Rodney not to understand that he's just pushed her way too far. She swipes her hair out of her face and turns her back on him.

The words 'get out' are on her lips, a measure of how off-balance she is, but she remembers in time that she came to him. Elizabeth drags on her clothes in haphazard jerks, not bothering to find her bra. She's holding on tight to the anger, her hands shaking with it while her legs quiver with the remains of her orgasm.

"Elizabeth," he says, trailing a hand over her shoulder. "What--"

"Don't! I think you've said enough, don't you?"

She doesn't look back as she marches out the door. The corridor is empty and dark, but even if it weren't, she's moving with her ball-busting stride. Potential gawkers don't stand a chance. She carries her anger all the back to her room, through her shower, and into her own bed before she lets it slip away into hollow ache.

 _2\. By forgetting that people aren't puppets._

Remarkably, it doesn't affect their professional relationship, or their friendship. Oh, he gives her wary looks and concerned eyes for a few days after, and she doesn't return to his bed, but Elizabeth knows that Rodney didn't mean to hurt her. Most of her anger has faded to a sort of mellow fatalism.

Still, she's not above teaching him a lesson. Especially when both John and Rodney have pushed the limits of her control over the past few days. Especially when she's been handed the perfect tool to do so, wrapped up in a neat little box that Rodney doesn't even know exists.

Rodney's asleep when she steals into his quarters, lying face down, the side of his face smushed into the pillow, a drop of drool leaking down his chin. Elizabeth sighs, wondering if she really has it in herself to do this thing. She's told herself that it will be good for him, make him face things that he needs to face, but really, she knows it's all about taking back control.

She strips quickly, laying her clothes over the back of Rodney's desk chair, and eases under the covers. He's in a T-shirt and boxers, but the heat of him leaks through the cloth and her skin, warming the chill she's had since Chaya revealed herself.

John came back to them after three long hours. Her knees had been wobbly with relief, and by the time she'd made herself let go of the railing and head for the stairs, Rodney was already there. Still awake somehow, stubbled and rumpled and radiating anger.

Elizabeth presses her face into the back of Rodney's neck, running a hand up under his shirt, playing with the fuzzy hair of his belly. She **can** do this. She strokes along his side as she lightly kisses the nape of his neck, and Rodney wakes up.

"What? Who's--Elizabeth?" He rolls toward her, pulling the sheet towards his chest as he blinks awake.

Elizabeth thinks he's adorable.

"Shhh, it's okay," she reassures him. "I thought you might like a visitor."

Rodney stills as his hand lands on her bare thigh. Genius that he is, he gets the picture quickly enough. She tugs the hem of his shirt upward, and he pushes it off, then works his way out of his boxers. Elizabeth pushes him back against the bed.

"Let me do all the work," she whispers against his lips. Rodney whimpers in the most satisfying way.

She kisses him deep and slow, feeling him harden against her leg, her breasts brush against his chest, her own pulse speeds. For a long second she considers discarding her plan–but then she remembers Rodney's face as John flew through the gate.

This isn't a game anymore.

Elizabeth moves down, sucking at his nipple as she runs her hand lightly up and down his cock. The sudden thrust of his hips is her signal to begin.

"Rodney?" she asks, quietly, slowing her hand to make sure she has his attention.

"Huh?"

"You do realize I was very angry with you for the stunt you pulled last time."

Rodney starts to sit up, but she leans forward so most of her weight is on his chest.

"Elizabeth, I didn't mean...Oh God." His words disappear as she strokes her thumb over the slippery head of his cock.

"Let me talk, Rodney. I was angry, because you overstepped the boundaries between us. I want you to understand that."

She lets go of his cock abruptly, and he's quick to nod. He licks his lips, so she takes hold of him again before he can start talking.

"But I'm a big girl, Rodney. I can admit that it wasn't just that. I was angry because it's true, I am attracted to John."

"I knew it," he says, his usual snap diluted by heavy breathing. She goes back to his right nipple, which quiets him nicely.

"But there's more, Rodney. I know myself. Do you know yourself?"

She hadn't known, would never have guessed, if she hadn't been right there. John was focused elsewhere, and he nearly ran Rodney over before he shot off a quick, _hey, McKay_.

She didn't see Rodney's face, but John actually took a half step back before his own face set in a hard glare. _Leave it alone_ , he had warned.

They faced off for another few seconds before John pushed past, not even acknowledging her as he stalked by.

Then Rodney had turned, and the anguish in his eyes was a revelation.

Now he lifts his head off the pillow, his eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement. Elizabeth raises one of her own, and delivers her bomb. "You want him too, don't you?"

"What? No! That's ridiculous–"

She takes him as deep as she can go on the first swallow.

"Jesus!"

She hasn't done this to him before–there never seemed to be any time for something so hedonistic–and the intimacy of it is nearly overwhelming. She pulls back slowly, working her tongue around his length, then stopping to gently play with the head.

He's getting close, muscles tight and controlled as he pants and begs. Elizabeth moves off, keeping one hand wrapped around the base of his cock as she braces herself above him.

"You do," she whispers. He swallows and blinks, and she waits for focus to return to his eyes before she continues. "You wish it were John right now, holding you, sucking you off."

He half-shakes his head but doesn't say anything. She strokes him slowly, enough to keep him on the edge but not more.

"He's incredible, isn't he? Smart, and funny, and so damn good-looking. Can't you imagine his long legs between yours, pressed up against you, running those strong hands all over your body?"

Rodney whimpers as she kisses her way down his chest and stomach, then nips at the tender skin of his groin. She kneels back and starts to stroke his cock again, slowly increasing her rhythm. She fondles his balls with the other hand, then moves farther down, pressing up, working her fingers between his cheeks as she speeds up.

"Do you want John to fuck you, Rodney?" she asks as she presses in, and Rodney comes, long arcs splashing all over his stomach and chest. She doesn't let up until he grabs her hand.

The silence almost undoes her. Elizabeth sits up and wipes her hands on his blanket, avoiding his eyes as she does so. He doesn't say a word as she gets off the bed and dresses.

"I think maybe we shouldn't do this anymore," she tells him as she slips on her shoes. "You're a dear friend, Rodney, but this is ridiculous. We need to concentrate on the mission, not on driving each other crazy."

She pauses at the door and makes herself look back at him. He's facing away, curled on his side, shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry. I–-" She wants to tell him that she cares, that this was stupid, that he needs to face reality, that she'd enjoyed the sex, but she knows that sometimes it's best not to say anything at all. Instead, she hurries back to her quarters, feeling absolutely disgusted by herself.

 _3\. By confusing what **is** with what **isn't** with what **can't be**._

She thinks she wouldn't be making this particular mistake if it weren't her birthday.

It sounds like a flimsy excuse, but she watched herself die today, and it's her fucking birthday.

Elizabeth knows–- **knows** -–that her other self died peacefully, at ease with the changes she had wrought, but she keeps picturing the fear and confusion that must have been on the others' faces as they died. All of her people are safe, she understands that, but she also understood Rodney's explanation well enough to recognize that they really did die in that other timeline.

Beneath the grief, there is failure. Elizabeth did the best she could to save her people, but her best wasn't good enough. She keeps questioning her choices, running and rerunning scenarios. She needs to get out of her head. In the past, she's gone to Rodney, but that's no longer an option.  
So she's here instead, getting up the nerve to knock on the door.

"Elizabeth." He's surprised, awkward as he glances up and down the empty hall and then back at her face, crossing his arms across his chest before dropping his hands to his hips. "Is something wrong?"

She smiles wryly. "Nothing new, no."

John nods, then suddenly straightens and steps back from the doorway. "Come in, please."

They stand facing each other for a long minute, John's eyes straying away from hers to focus on something beyond, then coming back as he smiles ruefully. "Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the desk chair. She sits, he sits on the bed, and Elizabeth searches for the courage that has carried her through every fraught negotiation and each desperate situation.

John sits forward, elbows on his knees, concern on his face. "What's going on, Elizabeth?"

She swallows and tries to smile. "I have a proposition for you."

It doesn't take long for understanding–and shock–to dawn in his beautiful eyes.

Rodney was so very right, but she never would have contemplated this if it hadn't been for his prodding. Rodney's words were like a spur under her skin, driving her to notice John, to watch him. One day, it was the odd curve of his ears as he stared off into space during a briefing. Another time he had flung his arm over the back of his chair, and she knows her eyes lingered on his chest a little too long. She can't help but notice the way he walks among his men, or the way he charms his way wherever he goes, or the way there's always something hiding behind his surprisingly clear eyes.

He's stunned into silence for a few seconds, and then he says all the right words, makes all the right protests, raises all the right objections. She lets him run out of words, waits for his choice. She doesn't know why he agrees, in the end, whether it's her need or his, but tonight she doesn't care.

As he moves in her, strong and slow, Elizabeth can't seem to catch her breath. He's already made her come twice with his tongue, and she's riding the edge again. The smell of him surrounds her; spicy and musky, the same combination she smells every day, only stronger. His skin is soft and warm, damp with sweat. She can't stop touching him.

It's everything she's fantasized–except for the knot of wrongness between her shoulder blades that even the pleasure can't loosen. There's no connection between them, not even the not-wholly comfortable friendship that underlay each time with Rodney. But each of John's strokes takes her higher and higher, pushing her beyond thought. She comes, hard rhythmic fluttering clenches with his cock deep inside. John grunts and holds still...and then they're done.

He still doesn't look her in the eyes. He hasn't once since he agreed.

The silence is almost painful, afterwards, but he doesn't ask her to leave, simply lies at her side with his arm stretched across her stomach. His breathing evens out after a few minutes, and Elizabeth sighs in relief.

She learned from what happened with Rodney. This is only a one-night stand. This time, there won't be a quasi-relationship to undermine her authority. This time, there won't be hurts exchanged alongside tenderness.

Still, Elizabeth wonders how John will look at her from now on. She wonders if he'll hesitate to argue with her, or if he'll be even harsher to compensate. She trusts John, and she thinks he's on the way to trusting her, but she knows that trust isn't always enough.

That's not a thought for thinking while she's still in John's bed, so she eases her way out from under his arm. She dresses quickly but unhurriedly, carefully and quietly, most certainly without shame. She doesn't look back until she's a step from the door.

John's watching her. He doesn't move, doesn't say a word. Her breath catches; but then she smiles and nods, and leaves without hesitation.

The hall feels colder than usual as she makes her way to her room. She doesn't bother washing his scent away, simply crawls into bed and pulls the blankets up to her chin. Elizabeth wraps her arms around herself under the covers, wondering why the hell she ever let herself get into this situation.

She could fall in love with John Sheppard, if she let herself, but she couldn't bear a relationship with him. They're too much alike in all the wrong ways, and too different in the ones that matter. Strangely enough, she thinks that if John weren't here, in Atlantis, that she and Rodney could have made a go of it, despite the fact that they would never be in love. But things are as they are, and Elizabeth knows that she can't change this any more than she can save the lives of the other expedition.

Her birthday's never going to be the same again.

 _4\. By believing it's all about her._

She finds out by accident, though she supposes her subconscious has been searching out the clues for a while. So while there's still a part of her that's shocked, she's not surprised. Not really.

It's not even a big thing that gives them away.

Elizabeth strides down the long hall to the labs, searching for Rodney. She could radio him, but on the off chance he's asleep she doesn't want to wake him. Really, she's just restless, following a whim, looking for an excuse to put off another night's dreams.

Just outside his lab, she catches the patter of male voices in conversation, followed by low chuckles. She smiles; someone else, at least, is still awake.

Elizabeth pauses at the door, an unexpected blush rising as she realizes it's both John and Rodney. She's faced them together, since, with little awkwardness, but not like this. Not at night, when no one else is around, when her innocent intentions might be misunderstood. And she reminds herself that her intentions really are innocent–she's smart enough not to make the same mistake over and over again.

Elizabeth squares her shoulders–-and tiptoes through the door with a grin waiting to emerge. She's not above using whatever advantage is at hand, after all. Rodney is sitting at his workspace, pointing at the laptop screen. John's leaning over him to study it, one hand braced on the counter. She's about to clear her throat, anticipating the jumps they'll both make, when the rest of the scene penetrates.

John's other hand rests on the back of Rodney's neck, thumb moving in slow, caressing circles.

Elizabeth backs away, holding her breath until she's a good five feet outside the door.

No big thing at all, but it's everything she never had with either of them.

It should have been three strikes and all that, but maybe she was tipping foul balls or something, because Elizabeth doesn't really get her head back into the game until there are four big, glaring errors on her mental list.

Atlantis is the toughest thing she's ever done. It's not surprising that she's made a few mistakes.

No more, she vows. The costs are far too high.

It's time to stop looking elsewhere for answers. Elizabeth draws a big red X through her list and chucks it out the metaphorical window. Tomorrow, she starts counting the ways she keeps it all together.


End file.
